What Happened After
by PastaLover2016
Summary: When Italy begins to have nightmares and secludes himself from the rest of the world, Germany scrambles to find answers and while searching for the truth finds himself falling for Italy. What will come of all Germany's meddling? And what is Italy not saying? (M for lemons, language, rape and violence.)
1. Chapter 1- Ignite

Ignite

The Holy Roman Empire. One of the greatest empires of all time, built on intelligence and creativity, warfare and beauty. Everything that a nation should be. And Germany could hardly say the name without a sour taste filling his mouth.

Every night for a month, Italy had climbed into his bed (as usual) and dreamed aloud. That isn't exactly a problem, for Germany had long since gotten used to the invasion of personal space (and let's not forget the breaking and entering) and it was not unusual that Italy spoke in his sleep. Germany at some times stayed up to hear Italy's ramblings with artists and scientist from the Renaissance. The talks were usually cheerful, filled with arguments about oil paints versus watercolor or good-natured debates about the position of the Earth (whether it was at the center of the universe or not). Most of the time Germany stay in bed confused about the topics of the conversation and marveled at how serious and knowledgeable Italy was in the arts. Maybe when Japan and Germany talked during battle meetings, about warfare and such, Italy felt the same way Germany did on those clear and starry nights, dazed and out of his element.

The problems began when Italy began not to speak to Galileo or Dante in his happy smooth language, slightly slurred with exhaustion, but instead frantically in clipped Italian, words sharp and clear as if it was orchestrated to make Germany hear every mournful word. The small Italian was never a sound sleeper (he wasn't still doing anything) but lately Italy was stone still in bed, only his lips moving in an anguished chant. Germany tried to wake up Italy during the night but that only resulted in him waking briefly, then going back to the same tortured delirium. He tried giving him medicine that would help Italy sleep dreamless. Although it worked, the next day Italy's hand would be shaking so bad he couldn't hold a paintbrush or cook pasta. Trick after trick and nothing worked.

Germany had made the mistake of telling France about his sleeping problem, to which the blonde man grinned lewdly and answered "I 'eard reaching an orgasm 'elps with any sleep issue." Germany found he couldn't argue with that. France of all people would know. But the issue was not the desperate. And who would he find (other that France) to voluntarily sleep with Italy?

"Holy Rome, Holy Rome, Holy Rome, Holy Rome, Holy Rome, Holy Rome…." Italy groaned into the pillow, eyes shut tightly, forehead lined with creases made from countless nights whimpering the lost nation's name. Germany was getting tired of it. Not of Italy of course, he was to smart and to cheerful to every get seriously mad at, but Germany was angry that such an old nation, (one MUCH older himself) was getting to Italy so bad. Was it some past war? As far was Germany knew Italy had been in a few wars (many, given by Italy's age) but he never fought the Holy Roman Empire. Italy was a part of it for while until he got abducted by Austria. Did Italy know what happened to Holy Rome?

When Germany was smaller he asked about the Holy Roman Empire to his older brother, Prussia, who first turned very pale (if such a thing is possible)than very red. "Nobody knows. But you are not to ask anyone about this unless it's me. No. Never speak of the Holy Roman Empire after this". Germany remembered nodding and shaking off the feeling of uncertainty. Germans took orders and never went back if their commandeered said no. So Germany never questioned it again, up until Italy began having these night terrors.

Germany began reading about night terrors and how to get rid of them. He found that if a victim of theses reoccurring nightmares was able to explain one whole dream to a close friend or partner, it would be the first step to stopping the plague of images.

One morning while Italy stumbled downstairs, having had limited sleep the night before, Germany decided to test the speaking theory out. Italy sat down and glanced at the cup of black coffee sitting on the wooden table before grabbing a spoon and began heaping outrageous amounts of sugar into the black liquid. Germany sat across from the brunette looking at him intently. Italy noticed Germany staring at him and gave an amused half smile. "When did Su-san teach you how to glare?"

Germany smiled back and for the next few minutes they talked aimlessly about whether Sweden and Finland were a couple or whom was to blame for Prussia's behavior: Spain or France. Germany waited until Italy looked totally relaxed, leaning back into the chair and nursing his cooling coffee.

"Italy what do you dream about?"

There was a sharp snap as the front legs of the chair slammed onto the tiled floor, and the clatter of the previously in-tact mug making contact with the cold ground. Italy didn't stick around to clean the mess. He mentioned something about having to meet with his little brother for the next World Meeting and mumbled a short apology to Germany about the cup.

Germany decided he wouldn't ask Italy about his dreams again.

* * *

**Note- I do not portray Italy as some stupid pasta loving idiot. He was the producer of some of the smartest people in history and made many of the world's most important discoveries. Italy is skilled in Math, Science, Language Arts, and EARLY Social Studies. He just chooses not to involve himself with war because of reason I will reveal soon.**

**PLEASE R&R SO I KNOW IF I SHOULD CONTINUE!**


	2. Chapter 2- Smoke

Germany tied and retied his tie several times before he was satisfied with the knot, hoping that he wasn't to formally dressed for such an event. He had organized a meeting with England, in the hopes that the British nation's mystical knowledge might help Italy with his nightmares.

As Germany began to walk to the designated meeting spot he began to have second, third and fourth thoughts about asking England for help. Exactly what could England do? Germany stopped in his tracks and began to fret. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea after all. He was slightly surprised with himself. He prided himself with thinking through ideas. This meeting with England was impromptu and sudden: uncharacteristic of the German.

Germany and England weren't exactly 'friends' in any sense of the word- in fact they often found themselves constantly warring against each other. What could encourage the Brit to help him out?

Clearly Germany was not all that comfortable, speaking to England about a problem that was indirectly his. Even as he explained out loud what the trouble was, it sounded menial and petty. England raised a bushy eyebrow after Germany finished his explanation and nodded curtly.

"I experienced a similar problem with America and France mentioned it with Canada also. The dreaming I mean. There is nothing much you can do but wait. Italy will get over it himself."

Germany stood to leave, half-satisfied with England's answer but as he turned he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You and Italy…are in an alliance together correct?" England asked a crease of concern in his brow. Germany nodded.

"Just an alliance?" This wasn't a question Germany could answer. It held underlying ideas and beliefs; gossip and rumors. He needed a direct question so he could give a direct answer.

"Yes. Just an alliance, nothing more-nothing less." The words left his mouth, but without his military authority. He hadn't hesitated had he? No. You can't hesitate when you're sure of something.

You can't.

* * *

Italy had a brilliant mind. A beautiful, wonderful, amazing mind. It was agreed among all the nations that without Italy's citizens a lot of European success would have never happened. Warfare, art, science. This was all because of Italy's accomplishments. He was just very clingy. Afraid of being alone. Don't get clingy confused with weak. Italy was more than capable of defending himself. Some nations said that before, Italy was looked for fights. But then….he just stopped. He devoted himself to the arts and sciences, turning an unseeing eye toward war.

But, like time, he progressed. The World Wars forced the Mediterranean nation back into the battlefield; unsuccessfully in fact. Time began to make its subtle and not so subtle changes. The church became weaker, science became stronger, neighbors became more distance, and nations became older and wiser.

Time for Germany however was not so progressive. Italy still was restless and was becoming more and more withdrawn. Every now and then he would make pasta, but the presentation lacked his usual extravagance.

He rarely painted anymore and when he did, they weren't pleasant to look at. It pained Germany to see Italy so out of it, but what was he to do?

What was he going to do?

* * *

"Four weeks…" Germany muttered, cursing at the unresponsive lighter in his trembling hands. He was not a smoker. It wasn't that he was concerned about his health (smoking couldn't kill him like it did humans) but he refrained to keep his image upright as a polite and stern country. But there was something familiar in the tar filled sticks, a familiarity and comfort that he so desperately needed right now.

He hadn't seen Italy in weeks and it was bothering him.

Contrary to popular belief, Italy and Germany were never together 24/7, that was too unprofessional for the Germanic country, but they kept in contact even if they weren't together physically.

No phone calls, texts, no word from Romano or Spain or anyone.

He finally got the lighter to come on and took a long drag. He sighed as he felt the stimulant enter into his lungs, a sickly warmth invading his body. He exhaled through his nose and savored the burn as smoke exited his nostrils. When was the last time he had a smoke? Germany pondered this as he dropped ashes on the cement, but soon it was an uncomfortable topic that somehow lead him to thinking about his missing ally. A walk in the garden would be nice, but smoking and walking among the plants did not seem wise and besides, Italy's vegetables were there having not been tended since the nightmares began. HE didn't want to think about him anymore.

So he decided to stand where he was, hidden between the stone walls and the neatly trimmed bushes, taking smooth hits from his cigarette. Germany surveyed the scenery and decided that he wanted to change the whole garden around. As the nicotine began to take its effects, Germany listed ways on how to change the garden, each involving the removal of the vegetable patch. Maybe he would install a pool or a brewery…Beer…Germany would like that.

"West? West? Where are you?" The blond nation was snapped out of his daydream and back into reality. Germany grimaced knowing that if Prussia saw him out here smoking he would never hear the end of it. West, letting his hair down. What a laugh. The younger 'stick in the mud' taking part of such an unhealthy activity.

Or his brotherly instinct (which he often decided to show at the worst times) would activate, and Prussia would know that something was seriously wrong.

Prussia did eventually find him standing in the backyard, but much to Germany's surprise he stayed quiet. He leaned his slim frame back onto the wall and let his brother smoke in peace. The younger prolonged every drag and exhalation, not knowing what to say to his brother, nor knowing what HE wanted to say to HIM. Time passed and the cigarette became too short for Germany hold, so he gave up and stubbed it into the ground. As he squatted down he ran his hands through his hair, loose strands falling into his face.

"West we need to talk." Prussia looked very serious, his scarlet eyes slightly wide, glancing quickly at the dark imprint in the floor. So he had noticed the unusual smoking. Germany laughed bitterly.

"What about?" He was surprised by his sharpness, but his worry and anger won out and guilt was pushed aside. He wasn't in the mood for Prussia's or his little Trio from Hell's games.

"Spain called…..it's about Italy."

Germany really needed a cigarette.

* * *

**I'm sooooooo sorry! I left you hanging and I am SOOOOOOOO SORRRY! I promise I'll update weekly if you guys keep reviewing. You guys are great hope you liked it!**

**R&R and PM me any suggestions!**


	3. Chapter 3-Mist

**So before I update tomorrow I wanted to give you guys a little preview of what is going to do down in this little story of mine. This winter may be lacking in two things 1) Updates and 2) eggnog. DX. But I digress here it is. Another chapter will be up tomorrow. Happy Reading and R&R! 50th Review gets a free onshot!**

* * *

"Answer me this. Does Feliciano want this?"

There was a pause as the three pondered the real weight of the question.

"I am a country first."

"True but one day you may not be Italy. But you will always be Feliciano."

* * *

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

"West, calm down please-"

"HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO CALM DOWN?"

"Ludwig listen to me! You need to let him explain-"

"Explain what? Secret dealings between my boss and Italy and god knows who else. Because of him my country is a stake."

'So is your heart.'. Prussia said silently, but he held his tongue.

"This is the way things half to be. This is the way things are. We move on. Germany will move on."

"But Ludwig will not" Germany cursed his thoughts and tried to compose himself. Ludwig would have to move on because Germany had to.

* * *

**So yeah this story took a turn. BYE**


	4. Chapter 4- Embers

**Well this is the actual REAL chapter three. Uhm...it's about to get really angsty. And btdubs there is a slight USUK moment especially for Clindy-Windy-Kins. Happy Reading! R&R!**

* * *

"Romano, I don't think I can take it anymore! I know it's him, I know it!" Italy shook his head and sipped from the wine glass that was obviously not his first drink. His tanned skin glowed pink from alcohol and frustration. "Why doesn't he know it?" Italy sniffled ready to burst into tears.

"One- How much of this shit did you drink?" Romano inspected the bottle on the oak table and gasped. "This is the best fucking shit in the goddamn house; why the fuck did you drink it all? And two- that potato bastard may never remember. It may not even be him." Although truthfully Romano DID believe that Germany was his older brothers lost love, he would never say it aloud. "Besides I will not have you sulking on your ass around the house. I'm tired of fucking asking that tomato bastard for favors."

"I can't go back. I can't. I can't stand to go back there. I-I..." Italy dissolved into tears, his shoulders rocking. Every day when Italy woke up beside Germany he hoped (prayed) that his blonde friend would wake up and say 'Italy I remember that I loved you, and that you loved me back, so now I'm back and I'll never stop loving you.' But everyday it was the same. Germany woke more or less irritated at his surprise bedmate and kept moving. It was driving Italy to madness.

Romano hated to see his brother cry but even more he hated that that Germanic potato bastard was the reason.

"Fuck. Listen…..Fuck. Listen to me. I know you're upset because you shitty Prince Charming never came back from fighting with that tea-bastard, and I know that mother-fucking Kraut looks like him, but that's no excuse go mope all the damn time. " Romano sighed and poured himself a glass of the wine. He HATED to see his brother so worked up but leaning on Spain was beginning to get stressful and it was a total blow to the younger Italians pride to be so dependent on his old boss. "You don't have to go back to the damn potato bastard's house, but you ARE not acting like a fucking kicked puppy for the rest of forever."

Italy's crying had been reduced to sniffles and hiccups but his face still bore evidence to the recent outburst.

"Why did he leave? He promised…He promised…" Romano saw his brother down the rest of his wine glass and attempt to take another but Romano gripped his wrist and took the bottle himself.

"Like hell are you going to drink the rest of the nicest shit in this house. Go to bed your drunk."

"I can't take this anymore. Romano…I can't….."

* * *

Romano was good at hiding. He was good at keeping quiet and gathering information. However the stereotypes may be, Romano had a bad-ass mafia that he trained himself, so he knew a trick or two. So when he walked downstairs to his and his brother's shared villa and heard Italy and Spain talking, he took this opportunity to spy. Romano glanced (stared) at Spain's chocolate locks spilling about his head in a messy just-out-of-bed way, but his eyes were wide and alert and- surprised? Italy was looking down at his coffee cup as if Venus would jump from the bottom of the porcelain dish.

"Italy…No- why…I can't believe this! You can't not after this long. What about-"

"How am I supposed to explain these freakish storms to my boss? He's already suspicious it's only a matter of time until…It would have happened anyway. Either way this doesn't concern you."

Romano frowned. Yes there had been some unusual rainstorm activity, a few short droughts and some talk of electrical storms but nothing to warrant panic. Had their boss called?

"Bullshit Italy. You asked me to relay the message so yeah it does concern me. You just can't…." Italy cut him off again.

"Please Spain…Do it for me."

Romano turned the corner and saw Spain running a hand through after-morning hair. Damn he could be so fucking sexy sometimes.

"Just answer my question…"

"I'm tired Big Brother I want to go to-"

"Does Feliciano want this?"

There was a sharp intake of breath as all (the seen and unseen) pondered the weight of the question. Italy paused and placed his coffee on the table. He looked like he was about to cry again. Like hell was Romano going to sit on the sidelines while that tomato-bastard made Italy even more depressed that he was. But was the younger Italian took a step forward, Italy spoke.

"I-I-…..I am a country first."

Spain shrugged and grabbed Italy's hand. Romano felt a small surge of anger but bit his tongue. This was more important than getting a few curses in. Being the leader of the Mafia taught his how to be angry, but it also taught him timing.

"One day, you might not be Italy. You might just be Feliciano." He kissed the smaller male gently on the head. Romano grimaced, feeling his patience run thin. "Sometimes it's okay to think about what he wants. You're more than a boot, little one. Sometimes your heart means more than your land. That's why I had to give Romano back. He needed to be independent and I loved him regardless of the few gold coins that would have gone in my pocket. That's what Antonio wanted. Now if you can tell me that Italy AND Feliciano want this…..I'll do it."

Romano blushed at Spain's casual confession of love, and as much as he didn't (did) want to return the sediment he needed to try to piece together what was going on.

"Yes. Please. My heart can't take this anymore."

"I'm halfway there." Romano heard Spain begin to walk toward the door. "Tell your brother that it's been a while. He's welcome anytime."

When Romano heard the door slam he finally walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"What the hell just happened? Why the fuck was that tomato bastard here?"

"I had to ask for a favor."

"What type of favor?"

* * *

"ENGLAND TURN ON THE TV! LIKE NOW!" The British gentleman held the phone away from his face and grimaced. It was almost tea time and Louis Armstrong was playing and the last thing England wanted to was turn on some insincere media instead of the genuine feelings blaring through his phonograph speakers.

"America you don't have to talk so-"

"No time for an etiquette lesson. Turn on the damn television. I swear it's going to blow your tea-drinking ass." America had on his 'I'm-not-fucking-kidding-do-what-i-say-or-i-will-fucking-hit-you-with-a-bald-eagle-and-shove-fireworks-up-your-ass' voice.

England walked to his living room sure that this was just another alien spotting or new video game or horror movie premier. He turned to the nearest news station in which a handsome news anchor was finish a story about a missing dog being returned to a family.

"What does this half to do with….? Oh my days….."

_'Breaking News! The German- Italian alliance has been broken! At approximately six o'clock this morning the leaders of both countries and the countries themselves met at a conference hall in Berlin to finalize the whole agreement. The two men agree that for economic purposes and political freedom this should….'_

England was no longer listening to the dapper young woman reporting the story, instead looking at the picture Italy's and Germany's bosses shaking hands and smiling diplomatically. In a stark contrast, Germany was staring at the hands confused. He looked rushed, his blonde hair slightly askew and he seemed to be leaning on his brother for support. Prussia's face read that he was acceptant of the decision, worried about his brother, and slightly confused. Italy stood about 10 feet away and it took England a few minutes to recognize him. His blue uniform hung off his shoulders, he had obviously lost weigh. His eyes were blank, unfeeling, unseeing. The brunette seemed to be the only one on the small stage who had a concrete grasp on the situation. England almost dropped the phone in surprise, this was DEFINITLEY not something he saw coming.

"Iggy…Germany has had like 3 major storms since then. It's knocked out the power in three cities."

England was too caught up in the severity in the situation to acknowledge America's pet name. 3 storms…. Germany rarely lost his temper enough to cause that much of a weather disturbance. To say this was strange would be an understatement.

"My god…Why did the alliance end? What happened?" England paced the room. Did this have anything to do with the conversation he had had with Germany a month ago? Oh God what in the bloody hell was going on?

"It was pretty much a unanimous decision. Except it seems that Germany doesn't know what the hell is going on. I called because I thought you might know. I always kinda thought that Germany would be happy to be rid of his little Italian boy. Do you think that they were…?"

"Seeing each other, broke up, and then destroyed a alliance that has lasted almost a hundred years? I highly doubt it. Germany isn't that type of man and even Italy has some type of decorum when it comes to his boss being involved." England ran a hand through his sandy hair and exhaled loudly. God this was too much to take in without a small glass of chardonnay, or a much larger glass of whiskey.

"Well whatever happened we'll find out at the next meeting." America's speech began to muffle and England couldn't help but become a little irritated.

"America really it is disgusting how you STILL talk with your mouth full of food. Are you three years old?"

"Only when I'm talking to you Iggy. Speakin' of alliances, how 'bout you come down to Miami and we'll make one of our own." Whatever food America had been quickly discarded or swallowed and whatever blood was left in England's brain drained south.

"You bloody-wanker." England's half-hearted insult made America smile and the British man could hear the smile through the telephone.

"I'll be in London in 20 minutes."

* * *

"You need to get him under control." Germany's boss paced across the living room, his beefy hands linked behind his back. Prussia mused to himself as he replaced the man's hands with large chunks of wurst. Although it was enough to make him chuckle (and slightly hungry) it could not mask his growing irritation.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't dropped such a fuckin' bomb on my _bruder_ he wouldn't be so upset. Why the hell would you not talk to West about this?"

The chubby man stopped his walking and glared at the albino man.

"You are no longer a country. You are nothing more than an impudent man, leaning on you much more powerful brother. I don't have to explain anything to you." Prussia bit his tongue so hard blood began to pour into his mouth. The copper taste of the crimson liquid made Prussia grimace. Had it been anyone else Prussia would have showed them the strength he had at one point. Rage colored his pale face and he was equally angry that he couldn't hide his emotions well.

"You are not Prussia you are Gilbert. And as far as your brother goes he is a nation, NOT a person. I can make decisions without his consent." The stout man growled the words, and then stormed toward the door. The wind whipped outside as lightning struck the clouds like a drummer would strike a timpani. Germany's boss turned around and glared at the Prussia, murder in his gaze.

"Calm. Him. Down. You demonic cretin. I expect the weather to be back to normal before he sends the country into a national panic." With that he slammed the door and shuffled out, wrestling against the storm winds.

_'Damn, when did a boss get to be such a bitch? That son of a bitch better be glad I care about West enough not to kick that mother fuckin' Neo-Nazi ass of his.' _ Prussia sat down heavily on the couch and rested his head in his hands. He breathed heavily and felt a small twinge of guilt begin to build in his chest. Yes, three days ago (was it really only three?) Spain had come to his saying that Italy wanted to break the alliance. And YES Prussia told Germany like his green-eyed friend requested but he didn't know things would go this downhill this quickly. It wasn't even a fucking DAY before Germany had to go to Berlin to break an alliance he didn't even know was going to be broken. Even for West that had been too much. If Prussia knew why that pasta-loving idiot wanted to leave his awesome_ bruder _maybe he could convince Germany to come out of his room, or at least come out of his room before a hurricane the country.

As Prussia walked upstairs his conscious began to scream at him "YOU DO KNOW WHY. YOU DO KNOW WHY. YOU DO KNOW WHY. YOU DO KNOW WHY."

Prussia dropped his head again. He DID know why.

But ignorance, real or fake, was bliss.

* * *

**So yeah. So many Feels. R&R**


End file.
